Wolves of the Jungle
by Argonaut57
Summary: When slavers of the Seng Brotherhood raid a village and steal a young princess, littlr do they realise their error. For the Queen of that tribe recently befriended the white man, Solomon Kane. With the vengeful Puritan hot upon their trail, the Brotherhood make the deadly mistake of crossing into the land of Bangalla, home of the dreaded Ghost Who Walks!
1. Chapter 1

**Wolves of the Jungle**

 **Chapter One: A Pursuit**

If Solomon Kane had not climbed a hill in the early morning, he might never have known what had occurred. But the odd, craggy lump of what might have been volcanic rock was easily scaled, and he felt it might give him a view of what lay ahead.

He stood there in the dawn-light, a tall, rangy man, broad of shoulder and slim of hip, clad in the close black garb of the Puritan. At his hips hung a brace of heavy flintlock pistols, and beside them a long rapier and matching dirk. In his left hand he carried a staff, some three feet long, of ancient, iron-hard wood, curiously carved along its length, with the head of a cat at one end, and a killing point at the other. His broad-brimmed slouch hat was pulled down over his pale, sombre features to shade the keen, colourless eyes that scanned the horizon.

He had not meant to look back – his path lay before him – but the vista of the jungle at dawn was so lovely and ethereal. The Puritan held no love for the adornments made by man, but the beauty of Gods' work was another thing, and he turned about to take in the full panorama. It was then he saw the rising column of grey smoke, and knew that something was wrong.

The smoke rose over the village he had left but the morning before. He had stayed there above two weeks, learning their language and discovering much about their culture. A culture more complex and developed than many white men would have believed. They had welcomed him with open hearts, as a stranger in their village, according to ancient, unwritten, but binding laws of hospitality. But now it seemed some ill had befallen them.

The strange calling that had drawn him from England to this dark, brooding continent still burned within him. But against that was Kanes' own code, his own sense of justice and morality. Those people were his friends, and if aid was needed, he would not be found lacking!

The previous day he had marched away from the village at leisure, but today he covered the ground, so it was barely noon when he came in sight of the high wooden palisade that protected the village. The great gate was gone, or rather it lay scattered about in shards and half-charred logs. In front of where it had been stood a troop of five warriors, led by one Kane recognised, a canny veteran named Malak.

It was Malak who, recognising Kane, stepped forward and thrust his stabbing spear point first into the ground in token of peace, before coming closer and offering his hand to the white man.

"Hai-yah, Kane, it is good to see you, white brother! You leave early and return late. Such are the ways of the loa. Had you been with us last night, I fear that all your courage and skill might have served only to bring your death."

"What has happened?" Kane asked.

"Slavers." Malak said simply. "But no common slavers, or they would not have dared strike here."

"Malak," said one of the younger men, "should we not take this man prisoner? Might it not be that it was he who led the slavers here? Who told them when and how to strike?"

Malak laughed. "Good, Timo, good! Caution is an excellent trait in a man who would lead. But you must also learn to judge men truly. I have looked this man between the eyes, and there is no treachery or deception in him.

"But if that is not enough for you, consider, why would Kane return here now, if he was one of them?"

"True." Timo admitted. "And if he shows the temper in battle that he did in the hunt with us, surely he would have led the raiders himself. Forgive me, Kane, I spoke without thought."

"You spoke as one concerned for his folk." Kane replied. "I find no fault with that, Timo. But Malak, is there aught I can do to aid?"

"Speak with the Queen." Malak told him. "She has availed herself of your counsel before, and would no doubt do so again."

Queen Asiti was not hard to find. She was in consultation with the shaman Takor outside his great hut. The hut was surrounded by awnings made from rush mats supported on poles, and it was under these that the sick and wounded rested. Kane smiled when he thought of how the physicians of Europe would think of this, believing as they did that all disease was airborne, and that the sick must be kept within, behind closed shutters. But Takor was skilled beyond any leech Kane had met in London or Paris, brewing draughts and making poultices from the jungle plants and insects that could cure any fever or heal any wound.

The shaman and the Queen saw Kane at the same time and advanced to meet him. Asiti was a lovely woman in her thirties, as tall as Kane and with a graceful carriage. From the waist down, she was clad in flowing, brightly-coloured cloth, from the waist up, she wore nothing but barbaric silver jewellery whose splendour was accentuated by its contrast with her ebony skin. She smiled at Kane and held out both hands to grasp his in greeting.

"Hai-yah, Kane! You return in our hour of need!" She said. "Your Great Loa must have sent you."

"Perhaps." Kane said. "I saw the smoke, and thought to help."

"We will need your aid, my friend." She replied. "But more of that soon. First, Takor seeks your counsel."

Takor looked more like a warrior than a leech. A burly, muscular man of forty or so with large hands and long, clever fingers. He looked at Kane with eyes that burned with intelligence.

"Hai-yah, white brother." He greeted him. "You find me at a loss. Wounds of spear, arrow and blade, I can treat, but the wounds of firelocks are beyond my knowledge. See now, some penetrate fully through, and these I can heal. But others! When I probe the wound to see if any sickness lies in it, so that I can prepare the poultices, I find something hard, like a stone, and the wounded cry in pain when I touch it."

Kane nodded. "The firelocks hurl a ball of lead to inflict the wound, Takor. Often, it becomes lodged in the wound. It must be cut out. I know you have knives fit for the task, I have seen you cut out an arrow-head. 'Tis much the same, though your bows do not penetrate so deeply as a firelock. Your wounded will need potions for the pain, and strong men to hold them while you work. Also, you should cleanse your knives with fire after each use. This the Moorish shamans do, and it prevents the wounds from mortifying."

"Ah, my thanks, Kane." Takor smiled. "I will begin preparations at once!"

This done, Asiti led Kane to a corner of the village, walled off by its own small fence. Within was an area where the bodies of the recently dead were kept in preparation for disposal. Here lay the bodies of six warriors of the tribe, tended by the women of their families, awaiting the cremation that would take place at sunset.

Placed separately, and tended by none, were five more bodies, and these were not part of any tribe. Kane saw two Arabs, a white man, a black man and another whose yellow skin and almond-shaped eyes matched descriptions he had heard of the men of far Cathay. They were clad in an assortment of mismatched finery, none too clean in most cases, and all wore some kind of jewellery.

"These were among the slavers?" He asked.

Asiti nodded. "Before dark, they will be taken into the jungle and left for the beasts. They were no better than carrion in life, so it is a fitting end. Come."

They went to the Royal Hut, where they would be assured of privacy. Kane wasted no time in coming to the point.

"Malak said these were no common slavers?" He asked.

Asiti nodded. "He spoke the truth. No common slavers come here, we are too far from the coast and the jungle is an effective fence. But these are the Seng Brotherhood." She turned her head as she spoke the name, and spat into the fire as if to cleanse her mouth. "They came in the evening, at the Time of Song, when all arms are laid aside and the people gather in the centre of the village. Only a few guards are set on the walls, and they watch the trees for leopards, not the ground for invaders.

"They blew the gate to pieces with their fire-powder, cut down the guards and began to seize the children. They were fearless and disciplined, and when they saw that our men were armed and ready to resist, they took what they already had and retreated in good order.

"We were helpless against their firelocks, only when we could close with them could we match them, and it cost them when we did, as you saw. But they took many of our children, and among them, my only daughter, Katiri."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and Kane gave her the time. But when she spoke, it was not of her personal loss.

"It is the custom of our people, Solomon Kane, that we are always governed by a Queen. For as Man is of the Sky, and inconstant, so Woman is of the Earth, and constant. Wise rule requires constancy, and so it has ever been. Your land too, is led by a Queen, you told me, yet this is not the rule?"

Kane nodded. "Elizabeth has reigned for many years, yet there are still those who argue that the rule of a woman is contrary to the Law of God." He held no love for Elizabeth Tudor, whose Act of Uniformity the Puritans, who had supported her claim to the throne against that of the papist King of Spain, saw as a betrayal. Still, he could not but respect the cleverness and ruthlessness with which she had held her place, and made England -a tiny island - great and feared among nations. "I take it, then, that you must have Katiri back, not only as a your daughter, but your heir?"

Asiti inclined her head. "Women among the foremost families of the tribe are already pressing me to favour their daughters. You know Katiri, Kane. Would she not make a fine Queen?"

Kane indeed knew Katiri, a pretty child of some ten summers, tall for her age and already a leader among her playmates. She had plagued him daily with many shrewd questions about his land and people, and had been the only one of the village children brave enough to play mischievous tricks upon the sombre-faced white man.

"A worthy heir to a worthy mother." He said. "So you will be sending warriors after them?"

Asiti shook her head, grim-faced. "I cannot." She said. "Other tribes will have seen what you saw. Kane, they will have sent their scouts. Our gate lies shattered, and until it be remade, I must keep all our warriors here. For make no mistake, some of the others envy our wealth, the fertility of our land, and our women. They will come, perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, and we must be ready to drive them off. A single warrior I might send, but of Katiris' fathers, one lies dead, another wounded and the third must remain here to command our warriors in battle.

"Also, I cannot send anyone to follow the trail the Seng took. For our scouts followed them, and returned in fear, seeing that they had entered the country of Bangalla."

"I have not heard of Bangalla." Kane admitted.

"We do not speak of it." Asiti admitted. "It is taboo, forbidden among all the tribes nearby, except for chiefs and shamans. No war-party has ever returned, and few scouts. Those that have babble of poisoned darts, traps and stalking beasts with the cunning of men. They speak of a land where the dead walk, a land overlooked by a mountain that bears the face of Death himself.

"Which is why, Solomon Kane, your return brings me what little hope I have. The white shamans who have come here from time to time have told us many tales of your Great Loa, as you have. It is said, is it not, that he has power over Death? That his son defied Death and rose from his tomb to walk among men?"

"That is truth." Kane replied. "But I enjoy no such blessing from the Lord, being but a mortal man, and a sinner to boot."

"Nevertheless," Asiti argued, "your Great Loa must extend you some protection. If he does not fear Death, then Death may yet fear him and offer little harm to his servants? You yourself have faced the walking dead before, yet you stand before me whole and strong!"

"That also is truth." Kane admitted, thinking back to the long, hot day when he and the wizard N'Longa had hunted through the Hills of the Dead to bring an end to the plague of Vampires that troubled the people there. He still held the staff N'Longa had gifted him so long ago, and if the old man yet lived, he could advise against any supernatural foe. Yet for all his faith, Kane was a rational man. He guessed that the hands and minds of clever, but mortal, men lay behind the myths around Bangalla.

"I will go." He told Asiti solemnly. "You have my word that I shall seek out these slavers and take back what they have stolen. At least, if I cannot rescue, I will avenge!"

She smiled then, a brilliant smile, and placed her palm on his chest. "Solomon Kane," she told him, "if the laws of your Great Loa permitted it, I would have you to husband before I let you leave!"

"An honour far beyond my worth, My Lady!" He replied with a rare smile. "But I must be gone, ere the trail grow cold."

"No need for haste." She noted. "The scouts said that they camped within the borders of Bangalla for the night. Those borders are an hours' march from here, so they have less than a days' start, and a company with prisoners must move more slowly than a lone man. Stay and eat, we will prepare supplies for you.

"Also, we took the weapons from the slavers we killed, I have them here. You may take what you will of them."

None of the slavers' pistols were of as good a make as Kanes' English flintlocks. Nor could their cutlasses or scimitars match his own Toledo blade. The one musket had its lock broken from parrying a spear-thrust, but Kane had been able to replenish his supply of powder and shot. Thus equipped, he followed the trail -which was broad and clear, as if the slavers cared little for pursuit or reprisal.

In the mid afternoon, he reached the borders of Bangalla. These, he noted, were clearly marked, which was not usual. At intervals along an invisible line, seven-foot posts had been set in the ground, and from the top of each one grinned a naked human skull. Doubtless the remains of some foolish, long-past invasion. For the natives, with their belief in a world full of spirits both benevolent and hostile, these eyeless sentinels might well be thought unsleeping, vigilant guards. But Kane was not a superstitious man, not a papist to cross himself and mumble at the sight of death. He simply shrugged and passed between them, following the trail.

But as soon as he crossed the border, other instincts came into play. Kane had journeyed long in the wild and dark places. All his senses had become keen, and he had developed that sixth sense men speak of. It was this sense that told him he was being watched now. Watched from afar, and with curiosity more than hostile intent, but watched nonetheless. He shrugged, they might watch all they wished, but if they came against him, they would not find him unprepared.

The campsite of the slavers was not far from the border. The ashes of their cooking fires were cold, as Kane expected. They must have moved out at dawn. Almost a full days' start, but they would be slower than him. As far as he could tell, the camp showed little discipline. Refuse was scattered everywhere, including several empty bottles that smelled of wine or strong spirits. A crude circular fence still stood off to one side, indicating where the prisoners had been kept, and the remains of a separate cook-fire nearby seemed to indicate that they had at least been fed. But then, a half-starved, weakened slave fetched a poor price.

The trail led from the clearing, deeper into Bangalla. It was broad and obvious, the trail of a well-armed company who cared little for any who might follow. Their mistake. Some light was left in the day, and Kane moved on with the tireless stride of a born hunter. Yet even he would not follow the trail at night, when a sudden change in direction might go unnoticed. Also, the night was the time of the hunting beasts; shy of man by day, they grew bolder as the sun set and the moon rose. Kane climbed into the fork of a great tree and set himself to sleep. But it was the light sleep of a cat, and he kept a loaded pistol in his lap. Leopards roamed these forests, and were as at home among the branches as on the ground.

He resumed the hunt at dawn, coming on the slavers' second camp by mid-morning, the ashes of the fires still being warm. It was much the same as the previous one, but less spread out, as if the men who built it felt the need to pack closer together. But again, the trail out was broad and clear. Kane followed.

It was just before noon that he came upon the first body. A white man, but olive-skinned, with the look of a Spaniard about him, dressed in tattered and filthy finery, but unarmed. He lay in the trail, body and face contorted, flecks of foam about his blackened lips and his eyes still staring. Kane examined him closely. At first, there seemed to be no wound, but as he turned the body over he noticed a sliver of wood, a thorn, lodged in the skin of the neck just above one of the great veins. There were no thorny plants nearby, so how had it come there? To kill with so small a wound indicated the use of a virulent poison, all of which spoke of the hand of man. Kane had heard Spanish _Conquistadores_ speak of the blowguns and poisoned darts used by native tribes in the Americas. He guessed this slaver had fallen prey to a similar weapon, though he had never seen them used in Africa, where bow and spear were the weapons of choice. His comrades appeared to have stripped him of his weapons and jewellery, but not accorded him any kind of burial, whether from fear of attack or simple contempt, Kane neither knew nor cared.

The nature of the trail he followed changed now. Certain signs made it clear that the slavers were going more slowly, keeping together. It meant Kane might catch up with them quicker, but also that they would be on the watch. He wondered why he himself had not been molested. A lone traveller was easy prey, and a dart might have found its mark in him at any time. Perhaps the unseen stalkers did not see him as a threat. Or perhaps they sensed that he and they had a foe in common.

After perhaps another hour, the landscape changed, from trees to low bushes. The trail now led along the crest of a gentle slope, at the bottom of which a little river bubbled and chuckled. It was here that Kane sighted another body. He halted, taking cover in a bush, and watched. After a while, seeing nothing, he went forward.

This body was a young black man, his tribal scars contrasting oddly with his tattered but flamboyant European clothing. He had clearly died as the Spaniard had. Kane crouched to look for the dart, and it was then that his instincts warned him. He rose, turned, drew and fired in a single movement. The slavers' answering shot went wide as Kanes' heavy ball took him in the chest and flung him dead to the ground. He holstered his pistol and stepped forward, then flung himself to the side.

Too late, as he heard the crash of another pistol and felt a searing pain in his head. Then he was rolling and tumbling down the slope to lie face-up on the edge of the river. His head was full of red agony and his vision was blurred. Above him, he saw a figure at the top of the slope. Instinctively, he held himself still, breathed shallow and kept his eyes to narrow slits.

Either his crude deception worked, or the fellow above was in no mood to clamber down and make sure of him. Whatever the truth, he moved off after a moment. Kane waited a while, then rolled over and plunged his face into the river. The water was cold and sweet and revived him somewhat. The pain in his head did not recede, however, and waves of blackness threatened to overcome him time and again.

Grimly, he began to crawl up the slope. At any other time, he would have bounded up with the agility of a goat. Now the gentle grassy rise seemed worse than any mountain precipice. But at the top of the slope were some bushes of a kind Takor the shaman had shown him. Could he but chew a few of their leaves, the pain would be gone. It was a long climb, and a hard. Caught between red pain and waves of blackness, Kane had no idea of how long it took him until he hauled his long body over the crest and lay exhausted. One more effort, the bushes were not far.

Then a face was in front of his own, long-muzzled and furred, eyes that met his with a mixture of ferocity and intelligence. The wolf sniffed at him and whined, then sat back on its haunches, flung back its head and vented the long howl of its kind. If it was summoning the pack, Kane knew he was a dead man. He tried to rise, to reach for his weapons, but the great beast placed its paws on his chest and pinned him. It did not growl or bare its fangs, but whined again, as if pleading with him to lie quiet.

A moment later, there was another sound, the thud of hooves, and a great white horse strode up, a tall man mounted on it. The wolf took its weight off Kane and the Puritan watched with astonishment as the rider dismounted and rubbed the fierce head.

"Well found, Devil!" The language was, incredibly, English, the tones those of an educated gentleman. "Doubly well found, for he lives yet."

The man knelt beside Kane. He wore tight-fitting clothing, a hood over his head and a vizard across his eyes. His skin was tanned by the African sun, but was clearly that of a white man. Kane made to move, to speak, but the man placed a strong hand on his chest.

"Nay, friend, lie you quiet." He said firmly. "You'll not travel far nor talk any sense with a pate thus cracked. Time enough when you are healed.

"Now, drink!"

A flask was placed at his lips. Kane drank, there seemed little point in refusing. The liquor was warm, sweet and soothing, and the pain in his head retreated at once, to be replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. He was dimly aware of the arrival of others, and of his rescuer, or captor, speaking in a tribal dialect close enough to the ones Kane knew that he could understand it.

"Continue to follow them," he was saying, "and kill any stragglers or any that grow careless. Should they offer harm to the captives, attack at once. Otherwise, follow the plan.

"Four of you stay here and bring this man to the Cave. I ride ahead to make preparations. Devil will guide and guard you."

"As you wish, Ghost Who Walks." Replied another voice in the tones of a native.

Shortly after that, Kane felt himself lifted and placed on a crude litter. As he watched the sky and the leaves overhead, he drifted into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wolves of the Jungle**

 **Chapter Two: Allies**

Kane woke slowly, which was unusual for him, coming gradually to himself through unfolding layers of darkness until fully conscious. The first thing he noticed was that the pain in his head had sunk to a dull, manageable, ache. The second was that he was lying in a bed, gazing up at a rough rock ceiling.

The bed was comfortable, with sheets of fine silk if the feel of them was any judge. The he realised that he was quite naked. This brought him sitting upright with a jerk, at the cost of a stab of bright pain in his head. He raised his hand to find a bandage there.

Kane looked around him. The rock chamber he was in was not large, and was lit with several candles. The walls were hung with heavy draperies worked in geometric patterns, similar to the rugs scattered on the floor, he could not see a door. The bed was covered, above the sheets, with heavy furs – the air was cool. He could see no sign of this clothing, but on a low table near the bed lay his pistols, powder, shot, and dirk. Beside the table his rapier and staff were propped against the wall. He frowned, natives might not have known the use of the firearms, but the sword and dirk were unmistakably implements of war. If they had left him his weapons, either they were well-disposed toward him, or did not fear him, or both.

He was about to rise in search of clothing, when part of the drapery moved aside and a man entered. A slender man of about the middle height, clad in a white robe and turban, with the dark-skinned, bearded face of a Moor. On seeing Kane awake, the mans' face broke into a smile; he pressed his palms together and bowed his head.

" _As-_ s _alaam-aleikum, effendi."_ He said in a soft tenor.

" _Wa-_ a _leikum-salaam_." Kane responded, giving courtesy for courtesy.

The mans' smile broadened. "The _effendi_ speaks Arabic?" He asked.

"I have travelled in the Moorish lands." Kane replied. "I learned enough of their tongue and customs for my daily needs."

 _Enough at least_ , he reflected, _to understand how sacred hospitality is among such folk_.

"A wise traveller." The Moor approved. "I am Nasir-ibn-Ibrahim, servant to the master of this place, and your host. You have slept here a day and a night, how do you fare?"

"Well enough." Kane said. "But I was on a quest of some urgency, and now I have lost precious time."

"I understand." Nasir told him. "My master divined your purpose, and bid me tell you to be easy. Bangalla is not a land to be crossed in a mere three or four days, and those you pursue will not be permitted to leave with their crimes unanswered for.

"There is still pain in your head, yes?"

"A little." Kane admitted, and Nasir nodded.

"The pistol ball grazed your head, rather than striking full-on. It was as if you had suffered a heavy blow. Your skull, thanks be to God, was not broken or your brain made to bleed, but you were lost to the waking world for a time. The poultice under that bandage will need to complete its' work. Another nights' sleep should see you healed, if God wills.

"In the meantime, my master asks you to consider yourself his honoured guest. Your apparel has been taken to be mended and cleansed -you have obviously travelled far."

Nasir moved to the other side of the room to pull aside another section of drapery. "Through here you will find a pool. You should bathe, as this will aid your healing and rid you of the last of the fever. I will lay out a robe for you and await outside to take you to my master when you are ready. If you feel the need to bring a weapon, by all means do so, but my master bids me assure you it will not be needed."

He withdrew as silently as he had arrived. Kane went through the opening he had been shown into a smaller chamber. This one was lit by a lamp rather than candles, for the air was warm and moist. The pool in the centre seemed to be fed by a natural warm spring. Like most Europeans, Kane had not been accustomed to bathing overmuch, but during his travels he had learned that other cultures valued the practice for many reasons. His father had often scoffed that bathing made a man soft, but Kane knew that the ancient Romans had been assiduous bathers, and they had conquered the world. So it was with a measure of appreciation that he lowered himself into the waters.

Afterward, he returned to the sleeping chamber to find a simple robe of fine white linen and a pair of sandals laid ready. These he donned, and after a moments' consideration, decided to leave his weapons. Instinctively, he felt that courtesy would count for more than caution here. Besides, Solomon Kane had killed with his bare hands before, and could do so again should the need arise.

Nasir was waiting outside for him, and gestured him to follow. Kane noted that the rough walls spoke of a cave system, but that the floors had been smoothed and covered with fine sand. The path was not a twisted one, but fairly direct, and it was not long before Nasir halted at another curtained arch and cleared his throat. At an answering word from within, he led Kane through.

The chamber beyond was large, and brightly lit with lamps. A merry fire burned in a stone hearth where two carved chairs were set. The room was lined with cabinets, some filled with books, others with unusual objects, and one with weapons. In one corner was a desk, bearing paper and writing materials, beneath a map which doubtless showed the locality.

A tall figure had risen from one of the chairs and now approached them over the thick carpets which were strewn across the floor. Nasir bowed.

"Our guest has awakened, Ghost Who Walks." He said. "He is almost healed, and some wine and food would benefit him. But he must not be overtaxed. He will need another nights' sleep before he is fully healed."

"Very well, Nasir. I must speak with our guest." The tall man replied. "Do you go and see to preparations for dinner."

"At once, Ghost Who Walks." Nasir bowed again, inclined his head to Kane, and left.

Kane was left eye-to-eye with his host, or captor. He could see at once that here was a man of his own kind. Tall, rangy, with wide shoulders and long, powerful arms and legs. The man wore a robe like the one Kane wore. His face was strong and handsome, clean-shaven with a pair of ice-blue eyes that met Kanes' colourless ones without faltering. Kane guessed he was in his late forties or fifties, for there were lines in the tanned face, and the dark hair was shot with grey. Nevertheless, he carried himself like a man half his age, and would no doubt be a formidable adversary.

"Good morrow, sir." He spoke in English. "It is both strange and pleasant to meet a countryman in these lands. Might I know your name?"

"I am Solomon Kane." Kane replied.

The man bowed. "Welcome, Kane. My name is Kester Walker, though by some I am called the Phantom, by others, the Ghost Who Walks. Be at ease, here. You are my guest, and I think we have a foe or foes in common."

"The slavers of the Seng Brotherhood." Kane said. "They have stolen children from a tribe I befriended. I swore I would follow them and bring the children back."

At mention of the Seng Brotherhood, Walkers' eyes blazed for a moment, and his face grew grim. Then he relaxed.

"Faith," he said "I am but a poor host. A draught of sack shall amend it, sit ye down by the fire."

Solomon sat, accepted the wine and pledged his hosts' health. This was, after all, an Englishman and no Venetian or Roman to proffer a poisoned cup.

"So," Walker said, looking at him keenly, "what manner of man are you, Solomon Kane? When first I saw you, you wore the garb of a Puritan. You carry yourself like a gentleman, and your speech marks you as a Devonshire man, an I am not mistaken. What do you here in the dark heart of Africa?"

"It is true I was born a gentleman." Kane replied. "And in Devon. My family is of the Puritan faith, and that faith I follow as truly as I may. I was the younger son, and so forced to seek my own fortune. The Lord made my hand to wield a sword better than a plough or a pen, so I became a soldier.

"Chance, and an oath sworn to a dying maiden, brought me to Africa, and wakened in my soul a fierce desire to know more of this land and its wonders. Whether this be the Will of God or a prompting of the Devil, I know not, but since then I have wandered far, sometimes in Europe, but always returning here. I have seen evil blacker than the Inquisition of Rome dares dream of, but I have also seen people whose goodness and charity outmatches that of any professed and baptised Christian.

"But what of you? You are also a gentleman of English birth, are you not? What do you here, a chief among the tribes of this land, with a Mohammedan for servant?

"'Tis true I am of English descent," Walker answered, "though I was born here in this cave. My father was shipwrecked on the coast of Bangalla when his ship was taken by pirates. His father, my grandfather, was slain in that fight, and by an oath taken on Grandfathers' skull, Father bound himself and the rest of our line to the destruction of piracy, greed, cruelty and injustice in all their forms.

"Father was found by the Bandar tribe, who nursed him back to health and brought him to this place. It is called Skull Mountain, and indeed, seen from outside, it has the appearance for a great deaths'-head. It was deemed the home of the Demon-God of Bangalla, and my father fashioned his garb upon the appearance of that demon. Thus attired, he became a terror to all who would transgress, striking from the jungle and disappearing back so swiftly that men called him 'the Phantom'.

"When Father became too old, I took up his task, and in doing so, convinced many of the natives that the Phantom was immortal. Thus some name me 'the Ghost Who Walks'. It is a fiction the Bandars encourage, to strike fear into those who would invade their land.

"My own son is in Europe with his mother, completing his education. Soon he will return here to complete his training, and in due course will take up my mantle.

"As to Nasir, my father saved his fathers' life, and the son serves me as his father served my father."

"You are a Christian, then?" Kane asked.

"As good a one as a man can be in a land without churches or priests." Walker allowed. "This land, Kane, is close to nature, and in nature a man sees the wonders of God more clearly than in a cathedral."

"That is a truth I also have learned." Kane noted. "But I marked your look when I spoke of the Seng Brotherhood. They are known to you?"

Walker nodded. "The Seng it was who took the ship Father sailed on, and who killed Grandfather. They are more than slavers, Kane. They are pirates, bandits, thieves, smugglers and even mercenaries at need. It is said that their home, the source of the Brotherhood, lies far to the East near Cathay and the kingdoms of the Orient. But they draw their men from all races, requiring only a lack of both fear and conscience in their recruits.

"Depend upon it, if these raiders are indeed Seng, there is more to this than a simple slave-raid!"

"One of the children taken was a princess, Katiri, daughter of Queen Asiti." Kane told him.

Walker gave a grim laugh. "It is as I thought, then. The Seng do not bother with ordinary slaves!

"No matter! My Bandars have them under control. What between false trails, traps and poison darts, these Seng will go only where I wish them to go. By tomorrow, they will be lost, and trapped in a place from which there is no retreat or escape. You and I will ride out, Solomon Kane, and make an end of them!"

Kane had been betrayed before, but all his instincts told him that Walker was an ally to be trusted, so he quelled his urge to be gone. Shortly thereafter, Nasir appeared with food, which he set on a low table between them. There was a haunch of wild boar, native corn and fruits in plenty. At the Moors' advice, Kane drank sparingly of the wine, but ate to his hearts' content.

As they ate, and after, Kane and Walker talked. Kane had not had news from Europe in years, but Walker seemed to have a way of obtaining it. Most of it a year or so old, he noted, but news none the less. It appeared that Henri of Navarre had finally succeeded in having himself crowned in Paris as Henri IV, but had done so at the cost of renouncing the Huguenot faith he had been raised in.

"They say he said ' _Paris vaut bien une messe_ '." Walker noted. "But I gather our Good Queen Bess was a little put out by it!"

"She would have done no less herself!" Kane snorted. "Did she not herself embrace Papism during her sisters' reign, as an act of policy?"

"That she did, though only the Puritans remember it!" Walker laughed, then. "They say that Brest has been recaptured, and that Frobisher fell there. Hawkins rounded the Horn, and sacked Valparaiso, but was taken by the Spaniards. The Earl of Tyrone has risen in rebellion.

"But also, the Plague has fallen away to the extent that the theatres of London have been reopened. With Kit Marlowe gone, Master Shakespeare will have the field to himself, I think!"

"I have no love for the theatre," Kane admitted, "but Master Shakespeare writes a noble line. What became of Marlowe?"

"Stabbed in a brawl in a Deptford tavern, so they say." Walker told him.

"Likely some quarrel over a wench or a pretty boy!" Kane said. "I knew him, Master Willem, too. They swam in dangerous waters alongside that great shark, Walsingham."

"You worked for Walsingham?" Walker asked. "I know he supported your cause when he could."

"Aye, he did, and to his cost." Kane answered. "If Elizabeth had not respected his cleverness and zeal for England, he would doubtless have been driven from court.

"He asked for my aid once or twice. Those who blackened his name after his death did not know him, for he was an upright man, who stooped to deception only in the service of his country."

The talk passed on to other matters. Walker was keen to know what had befallen Kane during his travels. Kane told him of his pursuit of the Frenchman Le Loup, how it had brought him to Africa and his first meeting with the old shaman N'Longa. How he had returned later to rescue the English maiden Marylin Taferal from the city of Negari and it's Vampire Queen. He spoke of his wanderings since, of his battle alongside N'Longa with the vampires of the Hills of the Dead. He told of the terrible vengeance he had exacted on the winged, semi-human akaana who had massacred his friends of Bogonda.

In turn, Walker spoke of his life as the Phantom. Of lightning raids on slaver camps, of duels by firelight with cruel chiefs who abused their people. He also told, grimly, of the toll he had taken of the Papist missionaries. The Jesuits, backed by Spanish mercenaries, had no compunctions over meddling with local tribal politics to advance Romes' cause, aiding with armed force any would-be usurper who consented to receive baptism, and supporting him in whatever atrocities he committed upon his people thereafter.

"That is why we must rescue this Princess Katiri." He told Kane. "Something here smacks of Rome. Mayhap the price of her return would be Queen Asitis' conversion, or they may wish to indoctrinate the child herself. Possibly both."

There was little more talk, for Kane became weary, he was not yet fully healed. At Walkers' command, Nasir led the Puritan back to his sleeping chamber, where he fell at once into a dreamless slumber.

Kane woke quickly, in his usual fashion, to find his head clear of the ache that had plagued him yesterday, and Nasir standing beside the bed carrying a tray.

"You wake, _effendi_ , it is good. You should break your fast, wash and dress. The Seng are brought to bay and we ride within the hour."

The tray bore a plate of white cakes and a steaming cup of a black, acidic brew which was indeed the _chaova_ or _kaveh_ Kane had drunk in the Moorish lands to the north. He ate and drank quickly, washed briefly, then dressed.

In place of the white robe, his own attire had been returned to him, for the most part. All of it had been cleaned thoroughly, some had been patched and repaired, whilst other items had been simply replaced. Kane was glad to note that his fine Cordovan leather boots had been deftly re-soled, and that some kind of oil or wax had been worked into the leather to make them even more supple. The same had been done to his holsters and sword belt.

Kane examined his weapons. His pistols had been cleaned and freshly loaded, he saw, and his Toledo rapier and dirk showed signs of recent honing. His supply of powder and shot had also been replenished. He equipped himself and indicated to the patient Nasir that he was ready.

This time the path they took was downward. Kane guessed that the living quarters were high inside this mountain. Eventually, they came to a large cave, lit by daylight that filtered through a wooden fence. The place smelled of animals, and there were stalls built against the rock walls.

In the centre of the cave, Walker was finishing the saddling of the magnificent grey Kane had seen him riding a day or so before. Walker was dressed in the garb of the Phantom, close-fitting and purple, with a broad leather belt supporting a brace of flintlocks, as well as a long sword and a dagger. As he turned, Kane saw that he once again wore the vizard across his eyes.

"Good," he said, "you are here. I feared you might sleep overlong on account of your wound."

"Nay, I am healed, I think." Kane said. "A fine beast you have there!"

"Ah, yes." Walker patted the animals' neck. "I have trained Hero since he was a foal. His sire bore me many a year, and his grandsire belonged to my father. Devil, you know, of course."

As they had been speaking, the great grey wolf had come out of a quiet corner. He now approached Kane and sniffed him, gave a short, apparently approving, bark, then went and sat beside his master like a loyal hound.

Nasir now approached, leading two saddled horses, one of which he proffered to Kane. It was a tall roan, bred from English stock to leap fences and ditches bearing the weight of a man armed for battle or a portly gentleman a-hunting.

"That one we call Redwood." Walker said. "I guess that you can ride, sir?"

"'Tis long since I did." Kane allowed. "But doubtless I have not lost the skill."

"Then let us be gone!" Walker said.

Nasir went forward and opened a wide gate in the fence. They led the horses through and he closed it behind them before mounting his own steed, a pretty sorrel mare of light, swift Arab breeding.

"You ride with us?" Kane asked as he swung himself into Redwood's saddle.

"Yes, _effendi_." Nasir replied. "I am no warrior, but it is worth the risk of injury if I can be on hand to treat wounds quickly. I will not hang back in safety to let a man die unaided."

 _There are many kinds of courage_ , Kane reflected, _and that is one of the rarest and finest_.

The Phantom led off, setting the pace at a swift canter. Kane realised that they were now on higher ground. The air was cooler and the trees more widely spaced. There was none of the riotous undergrowth that forced travellers to go on foot in the lower regions. Here men could ride, and they did. Kane had indeed not sat in the saddle for many a year, but the skills he had learned as a boy in England had not deserted him, and he soon fell into the familiar rhythm. Redwoods' ears were pricked, clearly he was enjoying the exercise, and had their mission been less serious, Kane might have permitted himself to enjoy the mornings' ride.

Then the way began to slope downward and narrow. Finally they reached a spot where two Bandar tribesmen waited. They halted and dismounted. The Phantom spoke with the warriors, then turned to Kane.

"From here we go on foot, quietly. It is not far, and they only await us to start the action."

The three men slipped through the woods, making no more sound and leaving no more trace than a trio of ghosts might. Kane soon became aware, however, that they were not alone, and by the time the Phantom signalled them to halt he knew that Bandar waited behind and in every tree and bush.

They had stopped atop a small rise, screened by trees. There were three Bandar there, among them a grizzled warrior who bore himself with easy authority. He was looking through the trees, but as the Phantom entered the clearing he turned and saluted him, speaking in the native tongue Kane understood.

"All is as you ordered, Ghost Who Walks." He said. "See, here!"

By some trick of the growth, or more likely by design of the Bandar, by standing at a certain point, a man could see clearly through the trees without being visible himself. The Seng were camped in a large clearing, bordered on two sides by the thick jungle, on another by a sheer drop of several hundred feet, and on the fourth by a beetling crag covered in thick scrub. The men were clearly tense, clutching their weapons and attempting to look in all directions at once. Kane saw that the children had been confined behind a crude fence under the beetling ridge.

"Not all of them have firelocks," The Bandar chief was saying, "and we have given them many ghosts to shoot at. They have powder and shot enough for perhaps one musket volley, as well as those who have loaded pistols still. There is but one trail out of the clearing -the way they came in – and our bowmen have taught them not to use that!"

There were indeed three or four arrow-pierced corpses at the mouth of the single trail.

"These Bandar are better bowmen than many I have seen here." Kane remarked.

The Phantom smiled. "Most tribes use the same local wood for their bows as for their spears." He said. "It is not an ideal material. My Bandar make their bows from the horns of the plains antelope. They almost equal our English longbows."

He turned to the chief. "Now, old friend, we shall go down to the trail mouth to wait with the fighters. Do you direct the archers. Keep firing until they have expended all their shot in response. The we shall move in and finish them hand-to-hand."

"As you command, Ghost Who Walks." The chief answered.

"What if they try to harm the children?" Kane asked.

The old chief laughed. "The crag they sheltered them under hides within the scrub a dozen of my best darters. None shall touch the children!"

Kane followed the Phantom along a circuitous route that brought them near the trail-mouth with a group of spear-armed warriors. As soon as they arrived, one of the warriors gave a call like that of a bird. Instantly, a volley of arrows swept the camp, felling several men. The response was immediate, a thunderous musket volley. Kane could hear the balls whistle by above his head. The Phantom leaned close and whispered. "They fire at the height of a standing man, but my Bandar know to fall flat as soon as they have loosed their arrows, only to come up again as the enemy reload."

This proved to be the case as another withering storm of arrows fell among the Seng. Return fire this time was scattered. Clearly the ammunition was all but spent. The Seng leader, a wiry villain with the look of a Spaniard, gave an order, at which two of his man made for the cage with the children. But before they had gone three paces, both fell, rigid in death, faces already blackening with the venom of the Bandar darts.

"Forward!" Bellowed the Phantom, and they charged, hurdling the corpses that lay at the trail mouth and bearing down on the already rattled slavers. There was no need to expend shot here, the fight was hand-to-hand. Kane stormed forward, rapier in one hand, dirk in the other, the battle-fury of his Saxon ancestors a red mist before his eyes. He was facing the Spaniard, but whether the man was a good or poor swordsman he never found out. Kanes' bright blade slashed into his heart and out again like lightning and the man fell dead at a stroke. Turning, Kane laid open another's throat with his dirk.

Then it was over. The Bandar warriors, with their hide shields and broad-bladed stabbing spears, were a foe the Seng had never faced in close combat, and did not know how to fight. Kane looked for the Phantom and saw him, both blades red to the hilt, standing over a pair of bodies even as he himself was.

"A shame." The Phantom said. "I was hoping for a better fight."

"Better it were done quickly, for your own mens' sake." Kane said grimly.

"Faith, man, do you not take joy even in battle?" The Phantom asked, half in jest.

"Aye, I do." Kane admitted. "But 'tis a sinful thing. Yet a man may take satisfaction in victory, if 'tis in a just cause. I struggle against my nature, as all men must, and let the Lord judge whether I do well or ill."

"Nobly spoken, my sombre friend!" The Phantom acknowledged.

As they had been speaking, they had both torn rags from the clothing of their fallen foes to cleanse their blades. In the meantime, a party of Bandar women, all of whom had bows across their backs and had clearly been part of the war-band, had come into the camp and released the children, examining them for hurts and generally fussing over them.

But one little girl broke away from the group and dashed madly toward Kane, calling out. "Uncle Solomon! Uncle Solomon!"

This was the title Katiri and her coterie had given their white guest. This child was not indeed Katiri. but her closest friend, Umiri. Kane went down on one knee to meet her, and to his surprise she ran directly into his arms, flinging her own around his neck and hugging him tightly. Instinctively, he returned her embrace.

"Uncle Solomon," she murmured into his shoulder, "Katiri said you would come for us, and you did. But you are late, and I am afraid!"

Kane gently loosened her grasp and held her a little away from him. "Late, Umiri? What mean you?" He asked in a softer tone than was his wont. "And where is Katiri?"

"She is gone, Uncle Solomon." The child replied. "The Fat Man took her away!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Wolves of the Jungle**

 **Chapter Three: The Hunt**

Umiris' tale was simple and simply told. "We could not understand what the men spoke of among themselves, Uncle Solomon. Only those who had the duty of feeding and guarding us spoke our tongue.

"We knew the name of their leader, Don Francisco, whom you slew, Uncle Solomon. The Fat Man was his second in command.

"Katiri tried to warn them when we entered Bangalla, for we were afraid, but they laughed at her. Then the men began to die, and they lost their trail. Don Francisco and the Fat Man argued at first, but then seemed to agree.

"The night before last, Don Francisco ordered some of his men into the jungle to hunt for the enemy. They made much noise, and fired their weapons at anything that moved. It was during that that the Fat Man came and took Katiri. He slipped away with her, back the way we had come."

Kane thanked the child, and handed her into the care of a hovering Bandar matron. The old Bandar chief, who had heard the story, shook his head.

"We thought they were trying to break out." He said. "I called away some of the watch to help contain them. We did not know it was but a feint. I am sorry, Ghost Who Walks."

The Phantom shrugged. "We underestimated their courage and discipline. No cause for shame. But now, Kane, you and I must hunt!"

Kane shook his head. "A days' march back to the other camp." He said. "Then we must find the trail, if we can. He has a long start."

Walker laughed. "If he has a body, he will leave a trail I can follow! As to a march, why walk when we can ride? Come, my friend, let us waste no more time!"

The previous camp was no better concealed than the others had been. The stench and the activity of carrion beasts and birds a little way off showed where bodies had been dragged off and left. They left the horses with Nasir, instructing him to lead them back to Skull Mountain.

It did not take the Phantom long to find the trail they sought. "See here, Kane." He remarked. "He has been too clever. He took a slightly different trail from the one by which the band came, doubtless to avoid Bandar scouts. But in doing so, he has left his own trail clear. Among the larger one, I might not have found it."

They followed then, in the manner of wolves, a swift, steady distance-devouring and tireless lope. Two of a kind, intent and determined. They spoke little, there was but little to say. They followed the trail while the light lasted, then made a cold camp.

"He travels slower than he might." The Phantom said. "He is careful, as befits a lone traveller, and he is burdened with a prisoner. He stops often, as if to rest. Perhaps he does not wish to overtax the child?"

"If he is concerned for her well-being, that is no bad thing." Kane allowed. "But whether it be from compassion, or merely concern for her value, we cannot tell."

"The child is dear to you." It was not a question.

"I am not," Kane answered, "accustomed to children. I never wed, and by the time my brother was married, I was long gone. Katiris' people welcomed me, made me a guest and friend. For the sake of that friendship alone, I would have undertaken this quest.

"But as for the child herself, she and her friends sought me out. They had seen white men before. Missionaries, for the most part, who told them Bible stories. The children looked to me to tell them more tales. In truth, I neglected my Christian duty, for the tales I told them came from other places. I have the education proper for a man of my birth, so I told them tales of the Greeks and Romans, of Hercules and Jason and the rest. I also told them stories of Robin Hood, and of King Arthur and his knights. Great wonder it was to them, whose warriors fight on foot and near-naked, to hear of men who rode great beasts, and went into battle clad in metal! But my stories pleased them, for they admire courage and honour, and so I became their friend as well."

"It seems you are not so grim a fellow as you choose to appear." The Phantom remarked. "But 'tis true that children often see past appearance.

"Do you take the first watch, Solomon. Wake me when the moon passes behind yonder tree."

They were two days on the trail, but by that time they were, by the Phantoms' estimation, less than an hour behind their quarry. They had come out of Bangalla, and back into Queen Asitis' territory. But the trail led not to the village, but to a nearby escarpment, in the face of which was a narrow entrance.

"What place is this?" The Phantom wondered.

"I was shown it once from afar." Kane explained. "Yonder cave is said to be the place where an ancient shaman of the tribe trapped a dark spirit that once tormented them. They do not approach it, for it is said that to enter there will release the demon."

"Well, our quarry had no such qualms." The Phantom said. "But it seems his captive thought otherwise. There was a struggle here, and beyond it his footmarks are deeper. He must have been forced to carry her into the cave.

"We must follow, evil spirit or no. Doubtless though, it was some beast of prey that lurked there, only to be poisoned by the shaman."

"Or the cave may simply be dangerous." Kane remarked drily. "The shamans of this tribe tend to be practical men!"

Initially, the cave was little more than a narrow, twisting tunnel. Then it broadened out. It soon became clear that this was no true cave, but rather a crack or ravine cutting across the escarpment. But it was so narrow that the exuberant growth of the jungle had covered it over. Nevertheless, the sun overhead sent a dim green light through the vegetation, or it would have been pitch black.

Then the two hunters found themselves in front of a gate. A sturdy, well-made one that stood across the path, and was shoulder-high on a tall man. As they paused, they heard voices beyond it. To their surprise, the speech was in French, a language both spoke fluently.

"It was dangerous to bring her back here!" This was the voice of a woman, the tones autocratic and angry. "Do you believe that Asiti will not be seeking her daughter?"

"I had no choice." A mans' voice, suave but with an icy undertone. "You told us, Madame Makari, that the warriors would not follow us into the haunted lands. They feared the demons, you said, demons in which you do not believe. True, there are no demons there. But there are men. Men of skill, courage and intelligence. Men in sufficient numbers, and of adequate craft, to whittle away our company to the last man.

"My brothers of the Seng sacrificed themselves so that I could preserve this child. If the other tribe had taken her, they would have found out who she was, and have used her against Queen Asiti to their own advantage. We thought it better to return her here for you to deal with as you see fit."

"Aye, you are correct, Master Fisk." The womans' voice revealed her difficulty in making this admission. "But what are we to do now?

"The girl must be gone, and gone quickly. Without her, Asiti must name a new heir. That heir shall be my daughter, the eldest daughter of the noblest clan in the tribe, of a line who were once Queens. Then Asiti shall die a little time after – such things are easily arranged – and under my daughter the tribe shall come to the True Faith, and become loyal servants to King Henri."

The suave man gave a short laugh. "Had you told us this at first, Madame, matters might have been arranged with less effort and risk. There are subtler ways to attain such ends. But why not simply slay the child?"

"She is the daughter of a Queen!" The woman snapped. "To shed the blood of such a one, except in combat, would be to blight the land! For the sake of my own people, she may not be harmed!"

"Such superstitions have no part in the Faith, my daughter." This was another male voice. Deep and rich, with a Gascon accent. "But even so, God does not look kindly upon the murder of children, even if committed in His service. This child is a soul who may well be saved, and we must look to that.

"Jeremiah Fisk, you are an Englishman, a heretic as all your nation are, but I must rely on you. We will take the child, you and I, and travel north. There we will come into lands where the Church has a greater presence. There are nunneries there, where this girl can be placed to serve the Sisters and God. Perhaps, in time, she may be entered into her novitiate and become a Sister herself. Such things have happened ere now.

"For this service, Jeremiah, I can offer you reconciliation with God and the True Faith. Or if you persist in your heresy, the Order has gold enough."

By this time, Kane and the Phantom had risked a look over the gate. The chamber beyond had been roofed over, they saw. At the far end was a table dressed with the full paraphernalia of a Catholic altar. The room was lit by thick, triple-wicked candles in tall stands. Four people stood in the space before the altar.

One was indeed Makari, a stately matriarch of the tribe. Kane knew her but little, as she kept to herself and took little part in the affairs of the village. Behind her stood her daughter, Tamaka, a lovely, clever young woman who was one of Asitis' chief handmaids. She was glancing between her mother and the altar, and Kane soon saw why.

At the foot of the altar, bound but otherwise unharmed, Katiri sat huddled. She was watching all that went on, though she could understand nothing of what was being said. But Kane saw something else; the looks Tamaka directed at Katiri were full of love and fear, but those she directed at her mother spoke of nothing but hatred. A possible ally?

The other two figures were men. One was tall and thin, wearing a white habit topped with the black cloak of a Dominican friar. His head was shaven, but his beard was black, and his dark eyes blazed in his thin face with the fires of fanaticism.

The last was clearly the Fat Man Umiri had spoken of. He stood well over six feet tall, and his girth rivalled that of Shakespeares' Sir John Falstaff. His face was clean-shaven, and his head completely hairless. He wore the mismatched finery of a pirate, but his was neither so tattered nor, save for the marks of recent travel, so filthy as others they had seen. He spoke now, proving the owner of the suave voice.

"Reconciliation?" He sneered. "What, Monseigneur DuLoc? You think I care for your quarrels over bread and wine? Over whether salvation must be earned or can be bought? The lies Kings and priests spin to keep the poor humble are no concern of mine.

"Give me a heavy purse and the freedom to go where I will afterwards, and I am your man until then. If I keep my word, you pay me in gold, but break yours, and I will pay you in steel!"

"You are a heretic and a blasphemer!" DuLoc barked. "Had I not need of you, I would slay you where you stand!" He twitched the cloak aside, revealing a long rapier at his side. "But these lands are perilous, and better we should travel together. You shall have your gold, and I will instruct the Inquisitors to let you be. You may evade the Church, Jeremiah Fisk, but not the Lord. His vengeance shall find you."

"Then your Lord had best come armed!" Fisk growled. "But come, time is wasting! There may yet be hunters on my trail."

"Indeed there are!" The Phantom called. "You gave us a noble run, but your course is done!"

He and Kane advanced into the chamber, swords drawn. Fisk immediately drew his own rapier, jewelled hilt glinting in the candlelight.

"The fabled Phantom!" He said. "No ghost, I see, but a mortal man!"

"Solomon Kane!" Makari gasped. "I had thought you gone!"

"Kane?" DuLoc enquired, throwing off his cloak and drawing his own sword as he came to stand beside Fisk. "The English Puritan who escaped the Inquisition at Seville? Who led a slave rebellion that robbed the Spanish of the _Santa Jose_? Our Holy Mother Church has heard of you, my son. A reward awaits any of her children who sends you to Perdition!"

"Come then," Kane replied, "see if the Lord will allow one of His true servants to fall before a Roman lickspittle!"

Then the fight began. DuLoc was as fine a swordsman as any Kane had encountered. A Gascon gentleman by birth, he clearly had not put aside the ferocity or courage proper to natives of that region. He also clearly had long practice in overcoming the hampering effects of his habit. For a while, the duel was evenly matched, contained to a small circle, neither giving ground, neither able to penetrate the others' guard.

But DuLoc was a fanatic, every foiled attempt to bury his blade in Kane's heart made him angrier. He began to grow more reckless, more careless. Worse, the icy-calm demeanour of his opponent fed his rage. The error was a small one, none but a master swordsman would have seen it, but it was enough for Kane. His keen blade slipped past the Frenchmans' guard to inflict a mortal wound.

Both men knew it was over. Duloc lowered his blade, his dark eyes locked on Kanes' colourless ones.

" _Ego te absolvo_." He whispered.

"May God forgive you your sins." Kane told him. "For I cannot."

He pulled his sword clear. DuLoc turned from him, dropping his own weapon with a clatter, and tried to stagger toward the altar. He fell to his knees several feet short. He lifted his hand to make the sign of the Cross, but pitched forward and died with the gesture incomplete.

Kane looked for his companion, to find him still locked in combat with Fisk. Both men bled from minor wounds, but the fight was nowhere near done. Fisk, however, was by far the younger man, and fit as the Phantom might be, he must tire sooner than his opponent. Kane set off to help.

But Fisk spotted him approaching and, in the face of a savage thrust, stepped forward and swung a mighty punch with his left hand into the Phantoms' chest. It was obvious that there was more than fat to the mans' bulk, as the Phantom was flung back several feet to crash into Kane, sending them to the ground in a heap.

Moving with uncanny swiftness, Fisk made for the altar. For a moment, he towered above Katiri, who glared up at him defiantly. His rapier flicked down, severing the cords that tied her ankles, he bent and lifted her to her feet.

"Run, child." He told her.

Then he straightened and swept the decorations and implements from the altar with a brawny arm, before dropping his sword and lifting the table itself above his head. It was a heavy oaken table, and two men might not have moved it easily, but Fisk swung it over his head, turned and flung it at his pursuers. They dodged easily, letting it pass between them, but it gave Fisk the time he needed.

Catching up his sword, he wrenched open a hidden door behind the altar and stepped through. He seized a torch from a bracket on the tunnel wall and applied it to something on the opposite wall, then fled without a backward glance. Kane made to follow, but the Phantom grabbed his shoulder. "Hold!" He commanded.

A few seconds later, there was a muffled explosion, and tons of rock, soil and vegetation fell into the tunnel, choking it completely.

"There was a charge in the wall." The Phantom said. "I saw him light the fuse. He has either buried himself, or blocked out pursuit. In either case, we have other matters to look to."

Kane turned. At the far end of the chamber, Tamaka knelt with Katiri in her arms, holding the child tightly and smiling through tears. Nearby lay the corpse of Makari, her throat laid open. A knife was clasped in her hand, but it was clean, another knife, bloodied, lay beside the body.

As the men approached, Katiri broke away from Tamaka and ran to Kane, leaping up into his arms and embracing him tightly.

"You came for me, you came for me!" She said. "Like those noble warriors in your stories. You should sit at your King Arthurs' Round Table, you should!"

"An honour far beyond me, child." He told her. "I am no knight, but an English gentleman, and any one of that breed would do the same."

He freed himself from her hug, and set her down, where she clung to his hand. Tamaka had risen to her feet, and now stood, eyes downcast.

"What passed here, Tamaka?." He asked gently.

She looked up at him, her eyes were wet, but they did not waver as she spoke. "My mother never forgave Asiti for what her great-grandmother did. Our line had been Queens for many generations, but then one came who was a bloody and cruel tyrant. Asitis' great-grandmother was of an equally noble clan, and when she came of age, she challenged the tyrant. The duel was fought, according to custom. They faced each other naked, within a ring of fire, armed only with knives. And the tyrant fell.

"My grandmother saw it done, and vowed revenge. She passed her bitterness to her daughter, and my mother tried to pass it to me. But Asiti chose me for one of her company of maidens, and there I learned another way. Strength that was not coldness. Passion that was not hatred. I grew to love Asiti, and when the time came, I also grew to love Katiri.

"But I was yet bound to obey my mother. So when she met DuLoc, and accepted his faith, believing that his Great Loa would overpower our lesser tribal spirits, I too was forced to have the water poured on my head, and to mouth their strange words, and eat their dry bread. Yet I never believed.

"I knew nothing of Mothers' plan until after the raid. But when she told me of it, I already knew something she did not, that the Queen had sent you in chase. I said nothing, but waited. For I knew that if any man in these lands is the hand of your Great Loa, it is Solomon Kane. And it proved to be so, for here you are, in company with the Ghost Who Walks!

"But when Fisk freed Katiri, she ran to us. Why should she not? We are of her tribe, and she speaks not a word of DuLocs' tongue. But Mother drew her knife even as Katiri came toward her. I knew then that all was gone in madness. Her plan broken, she wished only to hurt Asiti, to return her child dead. This I could not allow, and so I struck first.

"My mother lies dead by my hand, and I feel neither shame nor sorrow for it."

"A traitor, come to a traitors' death." Kane pronounced. "No cause for either shame or sorrow. But now, let us be gone. We must take our princess home!"

Outside the cave, the Phantom took Kane aside.

"Here we part ways, Solomon." He said gravely. "Beyond Bangalla, I am more feared than loved, and it is better it should remain so, for now. There are those who would do harm to your friends if they knew I had been in the village.

"Now I have nought to give you save the powder and shot you already have, and my thanks for a fine hunt, a good fight and the conversation of another Englishman."

"Do not forget your aid, Kester." Kane noted. "I could not have done this alone."

"Could you not?" Walker asked quizzically. "I wonder. But let that pass.

"Go with God, Solomon Kane, and should you pass this way again, forget not you have friends here!"

"I will not." Kane replied. "God be with you in your fight against injustice, Kester Walker."

The celebrations in the village were riotous. It seemed that some two days before a group of Bandar women warriors had escorted the other children back. Their headwoman had told the Queen that Katiri had been spirited away, but that Kane had gone in pursuit, accompanied by the Ghost Who Walks. Since then, no-one in the village had doubted their eventual return, and the walls had been lined with eager watchers from dawn till dusk.

Queen Asiti was overjoyed to see her daughter again, and even forgot to scold her for greeting one of the boys with a kiss!

When the tale was all told, and Makaris' treachery laid bare, Asiti embraced Tamaka like a sister. Tamaka was confirmed then as head of her clan, and any stain that clung to the bloodline was held expunged.

Then a festival was declared, and for three days and nights there was feasting, song and dancing.

On the fourth day, Solomon Kane gathered his few effects, and made ready to leave. He bade farewell to the veteran Malak and the shaman Takor, who gave him a good supply of healing herbs and poultices. He bade a sad farewell to a tearful Katiri, who promised many times that she would always remember him, and begged him to come back some day.

Then, with a heavier heart than he expected, he entered the Queens' hut.

He had hoped to find her in company, to make this easier, but she must have sensed his intention, and was alone.

"Solomon Kane," she said solemnly, "I have two husbands, I am permitted three. But I would set all others aside if you would but agree to marry me. I do not speak in gratitude, for I would have done as much for you from the day we met."

He made to speak, but she came closer and put a hand to his lips. "No." She said. "I do not wish to hear it. I understand the call that you feel, the fire that burns within you. Sometimes, men of the tribe feel the same call. They go. Some return aglow with stories of their deeds and the wonders they have seen. Others return tight-lipped and grim, and never speak of what they did and saw. Most do not return at all, unless old and broken.

"You must go, I know this, but I would not leave this thing between us unspoken. If only because, when the fire burns low, the memory of it might draw you back to me. And even if you return old, you, Solomon Kane, will never be broken."

She turned away from him. "Now go." She said. "I will not shame us both with my tears."

He reached out, then, and gently turned her to him, and drew her close. The kiss was deep, passionate and tender, and took the place of many words.

Then he was gone, and she watched him stride away, and had no shame to weep, for the tears were not sadness.

Solomon Kane went his way, for the unknown called him still, and there was no resisting it. He reflected as he went. His stern faith might call what he had done a sin, but it would, he felt, have been a greater sin to leave her, of all women, in any doubt of his feelings.

 _ **Afterword**_

 _The tales tell us that in the days long gone, a white man clad all in black, old but hale as an ancient tree, came from the North into Bangalla. He came to Skull Mountain, and there talked long with the Ghost Who Walks. After many days he departed, and went into the lands of a neighbouring tribe. There Queen Katiri ruled, though her mother, Queen Asiti, yet lived, handsome and stately. They say that Katiri greeted the white man as one might greet a father, and took him to her mother. And Queen Asiti and the white man dwelt together ever after, and were burned on one pyre._

 _"Tales of the Bandar"_


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